Zhou You told Zhù Ying to “wait,” though in truth he had no clear idea what he would actually do once she waited. His true enemy was still Zheng Xi — Zhù Ying was merely caught in the crossfire. After venting his anger, he returned to his room, where Zhong Yi called him over to discuss their departure arrangements, and he promptly put the whole matter out of his mind.

Zhang Xiangu, however, kept fretting over it. Seeing her daughter just as composed as ever, she lowered her voice and said, “How are you not the least bit worried? Once we reach the capital, won’t you keep running into him? What on earth are we to do?”

Zhù Ying said, “What sort of person is he? What sort of people are we? Even if we wanted to cross paths, we wouldn’t be able to.”

Zhang Xiangu was somewhat reassured. “True enough! This wretched rain! If only it hadn’t gone on so long! And that man — what kind of memory does he have, anyway?”

Zhù Ying said, “You call that a poor memory?” If his memory were truly sharp, he would have recognized her already.

“There you go again!” Zhang Xiangu said with exasperation, jabbing at Zhù Ying’s temple until her head tilted sideways. “Always spoiling for trouble!”

The mother and daughter were murmuring together quietly as they soon arrived outside Huajie’s courtyard. Zhang Xiangu asked, “This is the right place, isn’t it?”

Zhù Ying said, “Yes.”

After a brief exchange at the entrance, a maidservant led the two of them inside.

Huajie was sharing a room with her sister-in-law. Bored from idleness, they had been doing needlework. When the two visitors arrived, Chen Daniangzi stood up with a smile. “We’ve been waiting and waiting for you!”

Huajie rose after her. Without a word, her eyes reddened first. She made a visible effort to hold herself together, then stepped forward and took Zhang Xiangu’s hands. “Godmother — it’s been all these days — why didn’t you come find me sooner?”

Chen Daniangzi smiled and said, “You talk among yourselves. I’ll go see what sort of foolishness my husband is up to now!” She had barely crossed the threshold when she saw Chen Meng striding over at a brisk pace. She went to meet him and said, “Both of them are here visiting our little sister. Don’t go in just now.”

Chen Meng said, “Old Huang sent a letter.”

“What does it say?”

“He also took the opportunity to send along more clothes and local goods from that Yu Daniangzi for both little sister and Zhù San. The messenger delivered them all to me together. Old Huang’s letter says he has already arranged for someone to repair and renovate the cemetery.”

“That’s a good thing!” Chen Daniangzi said, then carefully added, “When we get back to the capital and see Father, it will be easier to account for.”

Chen Meng said, “Yes…”

Chen Daniangzi asked, “And what did that lady send for little sister this time? After all these days of rain, I hope nothing was damaged. And luckily Zhù Family’s Sanlang happens to be here — his things can be given to him directly.”

“It was packed well. Some dried goods, and a few items of clothing, books, and paper for Zhù San.”

“Ah, she really does think of others.”

Chen Meng said, “Thoughtful, and knows where to draw the line. I’ll write back and ask Old Huang to look after her a little more.”

“Yes — only if little sister feels settled about her will she have peace of mind staying in the capital.”

The husband and wife waited until the three of them had finished talking before coming in to mention that Yu Miaomiao had sent things. Zhang Xiangu’s and Huajie’s eyes were red and visibly swollen from crying. Chen Meng pretended not to notice and said, “Sanlang, take the things back with you when you go.”

Zhù Ying said, “Thank you, Young Master.”

“Why so formal? There’s no need to be a stranger.”

Zhù Ying gave a bashful smile and moved to collect the things. Chen Meng sent a young servant to carry them back to her room.

As soon as they returned to the room, Zhang Xiangu set down the bundle without even opening it and said, “Huajie has had it hard! Her heart has been split right in two — her birth mother, how could she not want to see? And her mother-in-law has treated her so well!”

Zhù Ying slowly opened the bundle. Inside were some dried goods wrapped in paper, two sets of clothing with shoes and socks. Zhang Xiangu shook out one long robe and said, “A fur robe… wait?”

When the fur robe was shaken out, an object fell from inside — an oil-paper parcel wrapped very tightly. When opened, it contained a thick letter, its flap sealed shut with paste and then secured with a wax seal. On the outside was written: For Sanlang’s eyes only.

Zhang Xiangu recognized the character for “three” and said, “It’s a letter for you — read it yourself. I’ll sort out the rest of the things. We’re setting off in a couple of days, and now we’ve got all this more to deal with, I need to rearrange everything.”

Zhù Ying sat down at the table with the letter in hand, weighing it — surprisingly heavy. She tore open the envelope with her bare hands. Inside was a thick sheaf of paper; the moment the envelope split, the sheets spilled out, covered in writing.

Yu Miaomiao’s handwriting was quite neat and presented no difficulty in reading. The moment Zhù Ying began, her heart sank.

Yu Miaomiao’s very first line read: I am done gambling on fate. I have no wish to give Heaven another opportunity to humiliate me.

What followed read as though Yu Miaomiao were a gentle elder talking at length with a younger person about the ways of life.

She wrote: Living too long invites disgrace. People are not all given the same span of years. Jiang Taigong served King Wen at eighty and lived to a hundred and twenty — even at a hundred he could not be called old. Gan Luo became a minister at twelve and died at thirteen; at twelve, he was already approaching death’s door. I have lived to thirty-nine. I dare not compare myself to the Grand Duke, but measured against Gan Luo, I have not lived little. If I die now, there is nothing to lament.

She also wrote: I used to think it was my own ability at work — that I could handle anything. Now I see that I am nothing more than a floating leaf of duckweed. Life depends on fate, on fortune, and for women this is especially so. Huajie says her luck has been good, that she has always met good people. My own luck has never really been bad either — though I have met wicked people, I have still met good ones. But every time a wicked person enters the picture, another layer of skin is stripped from me. That can hardly be called ability.

I once believed everything was within my grasp. But then, when Master Huang helped select an heir and that heir knelt before me, I suddenly realized — nothing was as I had imagined. It was never me who had mastered and arranged everything within reach. I was the one being held in the grasp of some force I could neither see nor name — whether Heaven, fate, god, or ghost, I could not tell.

If that is so, why go on gambling with fortune? My luck has only been declining. Though I now have an heir, and the family estate has been restored, and though my nephew is less reliable than before, Master Huang will look after him out of regard for Huajie. But who can say the luck will hold? It is not that I distrust Huajie’s character — but Huajie herself is a tendril of dodder that must cling to a tall tree. How could I bear to drag her down?

She then explained to Zhù Ying: It is not a matter of distrusting Sanlang’s character. Sanlang is also young — if you can look after Huajie, that is already more than enough. Being a son-in-law in a great household is no easy thing. Sanlang, you must take care of yourself, too.

Toward the end, Yu Miaomiao’s order of thought grew less composed — entirely stream-of-consciousness.

From the letter, Zhù Ying learned why Yu Miaomiao had not chosen a simple, guileless child to raise from youth but had instead settled on Zhu Dingwang. Yu Miaomiao explained: “Simple and guileless” sounds like fine praise — but a boy simple and guileless toward one is hardly likely to feel nothing toward his birth parents. Too strong a bond with birth parents, and you have a dispute that can never be untangled. If Zhù Ying had been brought in as a son-in-law, calling her “Mother,” and then a same-name heir adopted — that heir already has a mother and a mother-in-law. What would Yu Miaomiao be? Even a concubine-born child has to secure a place in the household for his birth mother — how much more so with clan relatives of that sort?

Zhu Dingwang was just right — somewhat solitary by nature, but equally distant from his birth parents. That at least ensured he would never go back to claiming them. In this way, Yu Miaomiao felt she had done right by her late husband and son. She was not concerned about whether “later on” he would treat her with disrespect. She had refused to accept humiliation even from Heaven — she was certainly not about to accept it from an heir.

She wrote: I have held the Zhu family together for nearly twenty years. I have done right by them. When I am gone, whatever becomes of the Zhu family afterward cannot be blamed on me. I have done everything I could — more than any of the Zhu men. I am tired. I am spent. I have done nothing more than pour out my vital energy fighting. Those who once pitted their strength against mine — let the Zhu family pit theirs now. If Heaven sees that the Zhu family still has blessings and can carry on, it will carry on. If their ancestors accumulated no virtue and the line is fated to die out, that is not something any single person’s effort can reverse.

“I am like a piece of firewood — I burned bright and hot, the flames rose high; even as charcoal I could still cook a meal. Now I have burned to ash. Let me be scattered. Let the wind carry me up into the sky. I have no wish to have even this ash gathered for compost.”

She continued at length to Zhù Ying: I no longer know what else I could do. I have suffered enough humiliation.

If glory and disgrace are not mine to control, then what meaning is there in living on? If I go on living, the bitterness in my heart will only deepen.

I do not know what it would take for me to live with any sense of ease.

Then the tone shifted. She addressed Zhù Ying directly: You are a man — you must be strong and self-reliant. Sanlang will not remain in a lowly position forever. When the day comes to hold high office and ride a fine horse, if you still think of me — if you find that I was not so detestable after all — then simply burn a packet of spirit money for me when you pass by my hometown. That would be enough.

She recalled many things from Zhù Ying’s childhood — she had noticed even then how clever the child was, grasping everything at a single hearing. She had not felt entirely at ease about it at the time, because her own son Dalang had studied with full days of lessons while Zhù Ying could only attend for half a day and not even every day, and had to go out earning money besides — yet Dalang had often said he could not match Zhù Ying in learning. She had been a proud and competitive woman all her life, had not really wanted Zhù Ying to sit in on those lessons, and in the end had relented only at her son’s and daughter-in-law’s insistence. She hoped Zhù Ying would not hold a grudge over that earlier reluctance.

She also mentioned Zhang Xiangu — that Zhang Xiangu had not had an easy life either, and yet Zhù Ying spoke very little to her mother, keeping her out of important matters. What mother could not sense whether her own child felt close to her? Zhang Xiangu was not learned, and her speech was not always refined, but her love for Zhù Ying was entirely genuine. If she had her shortcomings, Zhù Ying ought to be patient with them. Besides, Yu Miaomiao examined her own conduct and admitted that after Zhù Ying was taken in as a son-in-law, she had wanted to draw him more firmly under her influence — and so Zhang Xiangu had felt put out and might have behaved awkwardly at times. That was not Zhang Xiangu’s fault.

She went on to write at length with advice for Zhù Ying’s career ahead — saying that Master Huang was a very shrewd man and that Zhù Ying should think carefully about how he conducted himself. She mentioned the underhanded aspects of Yu Ping’s way of doing things and the outward care and compassion that Master Huang at least showed on the surface. She then spoke of how to handle oneself in government offices, emphasizing again and again that she herself was from a family of county clerks across generations, that what she knew was the workings of a county yamen, not those of the great offices of the capital — but she very much wanted to share everything she knew with Zhù Ying.

This section was especially long — far more concrete and detailed than anything Yu Ping had ever boasted about to Zhù Ying in passing — and occupied fully half the letter. Things such as: how to read one’s colleagues, how to understand the relationships between them, how to handle matters, how to judge the right degree of action, and the understanding that not everything is best done by strictly following what an upright gentleman would demand.

At the very end, she stated gravely: She did not wish to be buried alongside her husband and son. She preferred to be placed somewhere far enough away that she could see their graves without being beside them. Truly — being near them meant worrying about them again. From a distance, she could see them but not hear them question her about why she had gone down so early, why she had not taken better care of the Zhu family. Whenever she felt the urge to fret, if she were far away and out of reach, she would simply have no choice but to rest. Perhaps in that way, her heart might finally find peace.

That would be enough. She could go cleanly and quietly. Being the matriarch of a household had been so exhausting, so exhausting — let her simply die in ease and stillness.

“How wonderful — I have at last arranged one thing entirely according to my own wishes,” she wrote at the end.

The letter and the goods had been entrusted to Master Huang to send along. Once they were delivered, she would return home, where a propitious day for departing this world was waiting. By the time Zhù Ying received the letter, she expected they would already be in the capital, the lawsuit settled, the reunion accomplished. She hoped Zhù Ying and Huajie, amid all the brightness and flourishing around them, would have the patience to read the letter in full — and not feel it a damper on the occasion — and could think carefully about how to live their lives ahead. If they were still thinking of her by then, they would already be in the capital, too far to go back in time anyway.

However, even in this one matter, Yu Miaomiao had not arranged things as planned. Under ordinary circumstances, her letter should have arrived only after Zhù Ying and the others had reached the capital and concluded their business. But the rains had delayed the journey — and Master Huang had used his official position for private ends and sent it by express courier. They were still some distance from the capital when the letter arrived.

…

Yu Miaomiao had written a letter as thick as a book, and Zhù Ying read it through again from the beginning. She was now turning one question over in her mind: Yu Miaomiao had also sent things to Huajie — was there, in that parcel, a letter telling Huajie the same things? If there was no such letter, should she go to Huajie right now and tell her that Yu Miaomiao harbored thoughts of ending her own life and had been making arrangements? Or should she find some way to hold back and not let Huajie know just yet?

Yu Miaomiao’s intention had been for Huajie to recognize her powerful birth mother first, and only then, with a blood relative in the capital, to encounter her former mother-in-law’s final letter — so that the grief would not overwhelm her. If Huajie knew now, she would not be likely to blame Yu Miaomiao’s death on her birth mother, but she would surely be devastated — and might well refuse to go to the capital altogether.

Yu Miaomiao had clearly wanted Huajie to have a good life going forward.

Zhù Ying’s own instinct was to go to Huajie directly and let her decide for herself. But after reading Yu Miaomiao’s letter, she found, unusually, that a small hesitation stirred within her — she wanted, if possible, for at least one of Yu Miaomiao’s wishes to be fulfilled. At the same time, that would mean wronging Huajie, which also did not sit well with her own usual way of doing things.

Zhang Xiangu had finished packing and set the sheepskin robe aside separately, ready for Zhù Ying to wear when driving the mule cart again — it was far warmer than Zhù Ying’s own winter coat. Yu Miaomiao had once been a woman of means; the things she made were fashioned with far more generous materials than Zhù Ying’s own winter wear — which, while not exactly stingy, reflected out of long habit a certain frugality.

Zhù Ying hesitated for a moment, then said, “Daniangzi has passed away.”

“I know — we even saw her off, and Huajie ran after the cart…” Zhang Xiangu’s expression changed abruptly. The robe in her hands dropped to the floor. She quickly bent to pick it up and dust it off. “What? Who passed away? She… died…”

Zhù Ying nodded.

Zhang Xiangu said, “Nonsense — dead people don’t send you letters!” Even as she said it, she frightened herself, and in a flash flung the robe in her hands onto the bed.

Zhù Ying said, “It’s a farewell letter. She wrote it, handed it to Master Huang, and when she got home she was going to…”

“Heavens!” Zhang Xiangu’s face regained a little color. “That means it’s not settled yet! I’m telling you — when someone sets out to die, it doesn’t happen in an instant. Most of the time they change their mind! Oh, you just love to frighten me!”

Zhù Ying thought to herself: she would not be our godmother if that were true. Yet a small flame of hope kindled in spite of herself.

She asked Zhang Xiangu, “Godmother also sent things to Huajie. I don’t know if there is a letter in that parcel too — and I don’t know whether Huajie has read it. Should I go find her and tell her about this?”

Zhang Xiangu said, “Go! Why wouldn’t you? This concerns Huajie. If you wait until your godmother gathers herself and she and Huajie compare notes, it’ll be awkward if you’re standing in the middle trying to hold things back. And on the off chance your godmother really is in danger — if you don’t tell Huajie and something happens, she’ll resent you for it. If you feel uncertain, hand it over to her maternal uncle — let them sort out their own family matters behind closed doors. That way, no blame can fall on you.”

Zhù Ying said, “All right, I’ll go find Huajie.”

Zhang Xiangu said, “Come back early — you haven’t done much reading today!”

“Yes!”

Zhù Ying stepped outside and ran straight into Zhù Da returning. Zhù Da’s injuries had recovered considerably over recent days, though he still walked with a limp. Zhù Ying said, “Not fully healed yet.” Zhù Da said, “Daoist Xu is to be pitied — I at least have a wife and child to look after me. His disciples were either beaten badly or ran off; there’s no one left to accompany him. Now that I can get around, I’m going to go see him.”

Zhù Ying said, “The case hasn’t concluded yet. He’s still a prisoner, and Imperial Censor Zhong is still watching over proceedings.”

At the mention of Zhong Yi, Zhù Da felt uneasy inside, though his face remained nonchalant. “What is there to fear from him? It’s not his department anyway. Where are you off to?”

“To hand in my assignment.”

“Mind your superiors!” Zhù Da urged emphatically.

“Yes.”

Zhù Ying tucked the letter into her clothes and headed toward Huajie’s room. Along the way, a servant greeted her with a “Young Master Zhù” before the servants fell to whispering among themselves, speculating about why she had come again.

At the door to Huajie’s room, Zhù Ying was stopped. She looked at the little maidservant and said, “Would you be so kind as to announce me? I would like to see Elder Sister. In Godmother’s package there was…”

Before she could finish, a startled cry rang out from inside: “Young Mistress!”

Zhù Ying and the maidservant both started and rushed into the room together. Inside, only Huajie and a small maidservant were present. Huajie’s eyes were tightly shut — she had fainted dead away.

Chen Daniangzi arrived at the news and came hurrying over as well. Seeing the scene, she looked at Zhù Ying in suspicious alarm and asked, “What happened?”

The maidservant answered: “Just now, Daniangzi went back to her room. The Young Mistress was looking through the parcel sent from the countryside, and there was a letter inside. After the Young Mistress read it, she became like this!”

Chen Daniangzi directed the two maidservants: “Quick, help her to the bed.” She also asked where the letter was.

A search revealed Zhù Ying standing there clutching a sheaf of letter paper, reading it.

Chen Daniangzi said, “Zhù Family’s Sanlang — it is rather inconvenient here. Would you kindly step outside?” She extended her hand, indicating Zhù Ying should give her the letter.

Zhù Ying gripped the letter as she walked out, crumpling its edges in her clenched fingers.

The handwriting was Yu Miaomiao’s — but this letter was nothing like the thick one written to her. Only three or four pages in all, it contained no more than some guidance for Huajie: to be a good companion to her birth mother in future, to live well with Zhù Ying, and not to dwell on the past. None of this was the main point. The main point was the final page of the letter, bearing only four characters — four characters that filled the entire page:

Do not look back.

Zhù Ying folded the letter and clutched it in her hand. Chen Daniangzi at once instructed the servants: “Quickly, go and call Young Master over here!”

Chen Meng had not gone far. Hearing that something was wrong on this side, he came over himself without waiting to be summoned. Chen Daniangzi explained the situation in full, and Chen Meng said, “Sanlang.” He extended his hand toward Zhù Ying, asking for the letter.

Zhù Ying said, “This belongs to Elder Sister.”

“You’ve already read it all!”

“That’s right!” Zhù Ying said with perfect self-assurance. She had not been thinking anything in particular when she said it — purely because she had indeed already read it, and because she did not want to hand it to Chen Meng.

What Chen Meng was thinking was: after all, this is my sister’s husband. He found Zhù Ying’s stubbornness genuinely infuriating — once she had made up her mind not to give something, she never let go willingly. He hesitated, and by the time he thought to take it by force, the moment had already passed — Sheng Ying intervened and brought the two of them to his own room.

…

This was Zhù Ying’s first time entering Sheng Ying’s quarters. His rooms comprised three connected chambers: the central one was a formal reception room with two rows of chairs; to the left was his bedroom; to the right was a small couch with two chairs beside it and a tall side table. Sheng Ying entered the room on the right and settled onto the couch. “Sit, both of you.”

Chen Meng and Zhù Ying both sat in the chairs. Without waiting for Sheng Ying to ask, Zhù Ying said, “Godmother’s parcel contained a letter. It says she has resolved to end her life.”

Chen Meng exclaimed, “What? Why now, of all times? Has someone been unkind to her?”

Sheng Ying nodded and said, “Indeed. How exactly did this come about? Everything had been arranged so well for her — the estate was recovered, an heir was in place, even the local yamen had been properly looked after. How could she simply die? Do we seem like people who would drive someone to such a thing?”

Zhù Ying said, “Could you perhaps send someone to inquire?”

Sheng Ying said, “Of course — that is only right. Young Master, go and see to it now.”

“Oh — yes.” Chen Meng glanced at his uncle and went out to give his attendants their instructions.

Sheng Ying then asked Zhù Ying, “Does Sanlang have any views on the matter?”

Zhù Ying stood up and said, “I would not know how to answer that question. What are your instructions?”

Sheng Ying sighed softly. “All my family are waiting for the child to come home, and we cannot afford delays on the road. Say the news comes back that the lady is safe and well — if she rushes back in a state and exhausts herself, I shall have no way to explain it to her mother when I return. My sister has only this one child of her own flesh and blood. People have those who are near to them and those who are distant — I naturally favor my own kin. And if the worst has happened, would it not be better for her, after reaching the capital, to retreat into quiet mourning?”

Zhù Ying’s mouth turned bitter. “You will have a whole lifetime ahead to spend with her. Can you not allow her a few more days? Consider it the fulfillment of a last wish.”

“I carry an imperial commission!” Sheng Ying said with a sigh. “You are a perceptive child, so I will speak candidly. If I were heartless enough to keep her there tending to that woman, and the journey wore her out to death — or if I had you driven off with a beating and left her to keep her chastity as a widow in honor of a dead husband — people would praise that as a fine family’s conduct and call it raising a virtuous daughter-in-law and a loyal widow. That would earn quite a name for our household. But I am her own uncle — I cannot do that.”

Zhù Ying was in no position to argue — she also needed to go to the capital herself. She could only say, “I… could I see Elder Sister? I would like to return her letter to her.”

Sheng Ying said, “Go ahead.”

Zhù Ying did not rise immediately. Instead, she took the letter from her robe and showed Sheng Ying the final page.

Sheng Ying’s own mouth turned bitter. He thought to himself: without those four characters it would have been one thing — but with them, the foolish child is going to carry this mother-in-law in her heart for the rest of her life.

Zhù Ying gathered the letter back and went to see Huajie.

Huajie had already been revived and was sitting propped against the headboard. When she saw Zhù Ying come in, her tears finally fell. “Sanlang! Mother, she…”

Zhù Ying walked to the bedside, returned the letter to her, and said, “What would you like to do?”

Huajie said, “I — I don’t know. I want Mother…”

“Your mother wants you too!” Sheng Ying rushed in and caught that line, even though Zhù Ying knew full well that the “Mother” on Huajie’s lips still meant Yu Miaomiao.

Huajie struggled to sit up. “Uncle.”

Sheng Ying said, “Lie back down! The news just arrived from the capital — your mother has fallen ill! She is desperate to see you! You are the very medicine that will keep her alive!”

Zhù Ying numbly handed the letter paper over to Huajie and thought: Sheng Ying, you are truly remarkable.

Sheng Ying patted Zhù Ying on the shoulder and said, “Let her sister-in-law keep her company. Women talk more easily among themselves.”

Zhù Ying took a long, slow breath. “All right.”

After that day, Zhù Ying became noticeably quieter. After departure, she practiced martial arts with Jin Liang every morning and evening, traveled during the day, and read for half the night. During the march she kept herself at the very end of the column, and at rest stops she quietly asked Jin Liang for the most out-of-the-way room. She gave the group absolutely nothing to worry about. Day after day she went on like this without showing the slightest sign of weariness, and nearly everyone in the party was older than she was. When her name came up, quite a few people had praise for her: “Young, but extremely clever — and unusually diligent and eager to learn.”

Zhang Xiangu and Zhù Da were pleased to hear it but said aloud, “She’s still young — don’t go praising her to her face, or she’ll get a big head. How impressive is she really? She still has a long way to go.”

Zhù Ying paid no attention to any of this. When people praised her to her face, she neither swelled with pride nor said a word — she simply listened quietly. Everything appeared very harmonious.

Because the earlier delay had disrupted their schedule, the second half of the journey was hurried, and Zhou You had no leisure to come looking for trouble with Zhù Ying, which gave her some peace — and put Zhang Xiangu’s heart firmly back in her chest. These grand personages, she thought, were merely seized by a momentary whim; the moment you were out of sight, they forgot all about it.

But Zhù Ying had, without intending to, made Zhou You’s life miserable — for she had managed to show her face around him enough times that even Zhong Yi had noticed, and he said a few words to Zhou You: “Look at him — of lowly birth, yet striving upward with everything he has. And you?”

This infuriated Zhou You, who ranted in private: “I knew this little wretch was no good person! He positively reeks of Zheng Xi’s foul stench!”

Some days later, the capital came into view. The messenger sent to verify the news had also returned — Yu Miaomiao was indeed dead. Zhu Dingwang, the man the whole village had regarded as a loner, had donned hemp mourning garments and performed every rite of a filial son to the utmost. Following Yu Miaomiao’s wishes, he had buried her in a place set apart from her husband and son, but where she could see their graves.

Zhù Ying bought some spirit money from someone at the post station and burned it in the middle of the road. Huajie rummaged through her luggage, found a garment with less pattern, put it on, and cut a small white flower to pin at her temple.

Zhù Ying thought that with this, the matter was at last settled — everyone would go their separate ways, and once she had gotten herself established, the lawsuit resolved, and nothing left but to repay her debt to Zheng Xi, she could resume contact with Huajie.

But when they were still a day’s journey from the capital, an unexpected party suddenly came riding out — Sheng Ying’s eldest sister, the woman known as Madam Feng, had sent people to receive her daughter and son-in-law.